


soliloquy

by casmourde



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casmourde/pseuds/casmourde
Summary: (This work has minimal descriptions of a dead body. Nothing too graphic, just be aware.)Takes place just after Join Us (and Die) because I need Ted mourning Charlotte.
Relationships: Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 12 am because im sad about life and sad about CharTed, enjoy

Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?

Why was the buzz of conversation, one he wasn’t paying attention to, not about the dead body in front of them? 

She was right there. She wasn’t invisible. The opposite, actually - her sweater was stained down the front with a blue color so sickly that it shone brighter in the dark, and strings of inner organs of similar tone were strewn about her, outlining her horrific figure. 

It was so easy to see that she was dead. Their coworker, their friend. She was dead, right at their feet, so close that you could see the dash of blush across her cheeks and the smeared slime on her fingers. 

He was the closest. He always was. He sat in a chair right at her head and stared blankly down at her. Her face was like a mirror. There was nothing but cold shock painted all over it, splatters of wrongly-tinted blood delicately brushed around her features. 

His chest was wound so tightly it might snap in half. Her eyes were wide open, empty and dark, reflecting the lights on the ceiling above. There was nothing else reflected there - no softness, no anger, no lust or fear. Nothing.

Ted heard the whispers around him, fuzzy and unfocused, but he knew, deep down, that they weren’t about Charlotte. No one ever talked about Charlotte. Or him, for that matter. Their voices sounded too kind to be about the two of them; whenever they were talked about it was harsh and quick. Sarcastic. Hurtful.

Amidst every other thought breaking his skull apart, there was one that was loudest.

Why weren’t they talking about Charlotte?

Tears pushed at the back of his eyes. He would not let them out. If no one would talk about Charlotte, then no one would get to see him cry. He would only be made fun of. 

Charlotte would only be forgotten. 

He would never be able to forget the way her body slumped against the floor. He would never be able to forget how she was right next to another body, face down, that was wearing a dark uniform and a belt. He would never be able to forget the sounds that came out of her mouth, the vacant expression on her face, the way her body language was so comfortable next to the man that she had never been comfortable with-

Even in the darkest moment, Ted thought of Sam. Ted still worried about Sam, and about how Charlotte felt towards the bastard, and how it would affect their relationship. Both of them, the good and the bad, were dead. It didn’t matter anymore.

But he still worried. Why did she go to him? 

In her last moments alive, in a room without him, a room with Sam, did she hate Ted? Was her last thought about how much she hated him? How much she regretted what they did together? 

Did she even think about him at all?

Even if she hated him, even if she succumbed to Sam to hurt him, he would think about her. He would think about her if he died.

He would think about her when he died.


End file.
